


Gravity

by LoveActuallyFan



Series: Unification [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Angst, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4346684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveActuallyFan/pseuds/LoveActuallyFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Perhaps it was the wine that prompted Thranduil to meet his son’s eyes or perhaps he just couldn’t restrain his stare any longer, but he would come to wish that he had never dared to match the prince’s gaze.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Relativity

**Author's Note:**

> **Hi there :)**
> 
> So, I've been lurking here for a while. I haven't published any fan fiction in two years, so I fear that I may be a bit rusty. Go easy; but constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> Title is taken from the Sara Bareilles song 'Gravity', chose it 'cause I like it- here's a link:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_U6iSAn_fY
> 
> I suppose this needs the usual disclaimer? Blah blah, do not own, not for profit, blah, sorry for any offense this will very probably cause. Blah. Also, this work is un-beta'd, so any typos are my own screw ups.
> 
> **Anyway, rating will change when chapter two comes along :) Enjoy x**

[](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Unification%20Cover%20Art%20-%20Thrandolas%20Kiss_zpsj6whqwdk.jpg.html)

Thranduil gazed pointedly at the empty space before him at the dining table. The second place laid at the table remained untouched, cutlery and crockery pristine as always. The crystal glasses shimmered in the morning sunlight and Thranduil’s brow furrowed further as he chewed pensively on the breakfast that had been prepared for him. His eyes flicked up as his manservant entered the dining hall.

“Well?” Thranduil cocked an expectant eyebrow at Galion.

“Nothing my lord, I have searched everywhere the young prince usually frequents, to no avail,” Galion shifted uncomfortably under the withering gaze of his king. “Perhaps Prince Legolas has lost track of the time?” he offered. Lost track of time even before breakfast? No. 

Thranduil let a small sigh escape his lips before he rose from the table, discarding his napkin with more force than necessary onto the table top. This morning had been the third time in as many days that his son had failed to appear at breakfast. Dismissing Galion with a wave of his hand, Thranduil set about his day. He wasn’t overly worried about Legolas, more annoyed at his son’s behaviour. Mirkwood had recently played host to a rare commodity within the realm – visitors. It was only natural that the young prince, barely past his fiftieth year and unaccustomed to strangers, would become distracted by the new elves roaming the halls of the Elvenking’s palace. Even so, Thranduil expected his son to attend all mealtimes and the lack of Legolas’ presence at breakfast set him in a foul mood as he began his duties as king. 

The Elvenking found himself staring at yet another empty place setting as he ate his lunch, silently fuming. He narrowed his eyes at the empty chair opposite himself and did not even bother glancing at Galion as the manservant shuffled in to the room, back from yet another fruitless mission in search of Legolas. Slowly, Thranduil lowered his fork and leaned back into the ornate wooden chair that decorated his private dining hall. Galion made his half excuses for the prince and his sincere apologies for failing in his search as he left, leaving Thranduil alone with his half-eaten meal.

Their elven guests had been with them just shy of a month, and already they were causing annoyance to their host. While his son was old enough to not need supervision, Thranduil cherished the mealtimes they spent together. They were a way of finding time for informal interactions between the two elves in the strict and rigid system of autocracy that Thranduil controlled. While he could never show any favour or warmth towards his son in public, meals were usually taken privately and allowed for a more natural relationship. His son had seemed to thrive on their time together, glad for the moments when he was allowed to call his father ‘Ada’ and not ‘My Lord’ - Glad at the glimpse of an affectionate father. For some months now, though, Thranduil had felt that Legolas was pulling away from him. He no longer had the same reverent look in his eyes when his father explained something to him. No longer could he see the young, excited and ever enthusiastic elfling within Legolas. He’d brushed it off as natural though; his son was growing into a strong and capable elf, no longer in awe of his Adar. Missing their mealtimes seemed like the next logical step in their drifting apart. 

In truth, Thranduil was less annoyed than he was hurt at his son’s apparent desertion of a ritual that he had assumed they both enjoyed. Schooling his features into his usually cold expression, Thranduil rose once more from his solitary dining and swept out of the room, heading for his chambers.

It was approaching mid-afternoon when Thranduil’s ears caught the unmistakable sound of his son’s voice. His brow furrowed in confusion, he was seated in his private study, completing some official documents, when the distinct sounds of laughter reached him. Thranduil glanced through the slightly ajar balcony doors to the study. He heard laughter again, and was compelled to abandon his paperwork and head to the glass doors in search of his son; fully prepared to berate him in front of whichever visiting elf had stolen Legolas’ attention. Perhaps that would soothe the pain of watching his son slip away from him? As the king approached the doors, a small gust of wind swirled in, causing the delicate white gossamer curtains to flutter upwards and obscure his view. 

As the curtains whirled in front of him, Thranduil caught sight of his son in the fading afternoon light. Perched on a delicate bench underneath a rose covered trestle, Legolas sat, his neatly plaited golden hair shimmering in the half-light. He was staring forwards, his eyes intent on following movement in the gardens before him. Thranduil had stepped forwards to begin his admonishment of his son when his words died on his lips. He followed Legolas’ gaze as a figure emerging from the garden almost floated their way over to the bench where he sat. Legolas’ laugh drifted through the gardens and reached the king’s ears once more, stirring an unfamiliar feeling within Thranduil. As he grappled with the sudden clenching of his chest and the pounding which he heard in his head, Thranduil could do nothing but watch the scene unfolding before him from the shadow of the doorway.

The elf with whom Legolas shared the bench was his complete opposite in every way. Small in stature, with long hair as dark as the midnight sky, the elf wore an ornate flowing robe of deepest blue, trimmed with silver that caught the light prettily. Thranduil’s eyes snapped to where his son had taken the elleth’s hand in his own, gently stroking her skin as they talked. The pounding in his head grew louder; the tightening of his chest grew unbearable. The king’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breathe through his nose and tried to steady himself. He felt as though he were deep in a swirling ocean, viewing his son from miles away. Time seemed to slow and he was barely aware of his surroundings as his attention concentrated in on the couple. His blood ran cold and hot and then cold again as he saw the slight tilt of his son’s body, leaning forwards. His eyes widened. The great Elvenking could only stand and watch, mutely, as his son placed a delicate kiss on the lips of the elleth with whom he sat. It was a quick peck, a couple of seconds long at most, but it felt like an eternity for Thranduil. The smile that graced Legolas’ delicate elven features as he pulled away and looked down upon the elleth was unlike any expression the king had seen on his son’s face before. The pressure in Thranduil’s chest turned to white hot agony and his jaw clenched painfully. 

Thranduil started as he heard shuffling in the adjacent bedchamber. This interruption snapped him from his trance and he quickly shut the study doors, locking them tightly. His hand lingered on the lock as he attempted to steady his somewhat erratic breathing. The movements in his bedchamber would be Galion readying his wardrobe for the feast with their visitors that same night. He took a moment to compose himself and to arrange his expression into his characteristic stoic veneer, before turning on his heel and stalking back to his desk to finish the paperwork he’d abandoned. 

.~.

Thranduil’s eyes had not left his son since he’d entered the large formal dining hall that provided the location for the sumptuous feast laid out for the visiting elves and many of Mirkwood’s residents. Legolas had, uncharacteristically, changed into formal dress for the occasion. He had chosen a tunic of shimmering grey and silver, with grey velvet leggings and burnished black knee high dress boots. To Thranduil’s surprise, Legolas had donned the small silver circlet that had been gifted to him by his father on his majority. Never typically one for the finery that Thranduil enjoyed, Legolas usually went everywhere in his sensible brown tunic and faded deep green leggings. Never, in all Legolas’ fifty years, had Thranduil seen him wear any adornment but his weapons, his beloved arrows and knives. As Thranduil stared at the circlet upon his son’s head, he couldn’t help but feel as though the elf sitting at the other end of the great table was a stranger to him. It was then that he noticed that the elleth sitting to Legolas’ right was the very same one he’d witnessed Legolas kiss earlier that afternoon.

Thranduil took a long, deep sip of the wine offered to him by Galion, the bittersweet liquid giving his scattered mind something else to focus on for a few precious moments. When he lowered his goblet, Legolas was staring directly at him from across the room, his eyes questioning. Perhaps he had been staring too obviously at his son? Thranduil averted his gaze from the searching blue eyes of the prince and turned to the elf to his left, striking up a casual conversation. The elf seemed startled at being engaged in conversation by the notoriously frosty Elvenking, but participated dutifully.

The next time Thranduil chanced a glance at Legolas, the prince was still looking at him, his eyes now holding consternation at his father’s odd behaviour. Thranduil resolutely avoided the eye contact, instead opting to focus on his goblet of wine, which had recently been replenished. Losing count of the number of glasses of Dorwinion he had consumed, Thranduil participated in the feast more than he usually would have; talking and eating readily with those around him. He tried everything to avoid the piercing sapphire eyes which bore in to him from across the table. Even Galion noticed his king’s unusual socialising, raising an eyebrow as Thranduil held out his goblet for yet another refill. While Thranduil had not been properly drunk for centuries, the sheer amount of wine he’d consumed had left him with a pleasant warmth in his chest in the place of the crushing pain sustained earlier that day, and a slight flush to his cheeks and the very tips of his ears.

Perhaps it was the wine that prompted Thranduil to meet his son’s eyes or perhaps he just couldn’t restrain his stare any longer, but he would come to wish that he had never dared to match the prince’s gaze. Legolas was staring resolutely at his father, not actually listening to the elleth at his right, who was talking animatedly to him. Thranduil’s jaw clenched and twitched slightly and he swallowed roughly, the feast blurring around him. Legolas’ eyebrows knit together in confusion at his father’s odd expression. He’d never seen the king so distracted and had never witnessed the cool veneer of control slip from Thranduil’s countenance in public.

The prince was about to make his excuses to those around him and attend to his Adar when the king broke eye contact and abruptly rose from his chair, scraping the floor noisily. Silence fell around the table as both Mirkwood residents and the visiting elves turned to watch the Elvenking leave the table and sweep towards the door in a swirl of shimmering black robes. Some elves tried to rise out of respect for the king as he exited, but he was gone too swiftly. The entire feast turned to Legolas after the king had vanished, as if waiting for his approval to continue. Legolas smiled graciously and waved a continuance. The feast resumed with much gusto and Legolas turned to glance at the door through which his father had left.

Draining what remained of the Dorwinion in his goblet; Legolas offered his excuses to the party and made his way casually to the door. Once he was out of sight he turned towards his father’s chambers and chased after his Adar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Adar = Father  
> Ada = Dad/Daddy  
> Elleth = Elf Woman
> 
> **Go on.**  
>  **Leave a comment or some kudos.**  
>  **You know you want to find out what happens next ;)**


	2. Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am glad you have found someone to love as I loved your mother, ion,” Thranduil’s voice was rough as he spoke, “We brought each other much happiness, and I know she would have been overjoyed at seeing you in love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I have returned**
> 
>  
> 
> Just wanted to say thanks for all the nice comments you guys left *blushes* Really makes me happy. If you like what goes on in this chapter, leave me another little message ;)
> 
>  
> 
> **Enjoy x**

Legolas stopped abruptly as he passed one of the multiple doors leading out to the outside colonnade on the way to his father’s chambers. Leaning heavily on his forearms, Thranduil was taking great heaving breaths of the crisp night air, his shoulders hunched over and his eyes pressed closed. He was facing away from the doorway, hands clasped onto the cold stone in front of him. Legolas glanced about the corridor nervously before approaching his father, gently shutting the doors behind him so they wouldn’t be overheard or disturbed. Thranduil seemed to be so engrossed in his own thoughts that he did not hear the gentle click of the door closing, nor did he turn around as Legolas padded towards him. 

“Adar?”

Legolas’ soft voice reverberated around the stone walls, sounding hollow and misplaced in the chilly night air. His father ceased his laboured breathing at the sound of his son’s voice, his head snapping up and gazing directly out into the darkened gardens. “Adar,” Legolas tried again, this time a bit more forcefully. “Adar, are you alright?”

Thranduil clenched his jaw, but kept staring out across the misty forest of trees before him, not turning around as he spoke, “Leave, Legolas.”

“Adar,” Legolas made to step forwards, but his father’s abrupt answer stopped him.

“Leave me be,” he commanded flatly, and Legolas could hear that he was being ordered by the Elvenking; not asked by his father. 

Legolas dropped his head in a show of surrender, before quietly breathing, “Of course, My Lord.” He turned silently, making to leave his father alone. As he reached for the ornate door handle, his eyes caught Thranduil’s reflection in the long window bordering the colonnade, giving him the perfect view of his father’s profile. The king had his eyes closed tightly, his face contorted as if he was trying to quell tears. Legolas was momentarily dumbfounded; he had never seen his father cry. Not even when his mother had disappeared; he was always the strong, noble and stoic king. 

Finding his voice, Legolas turned around and strode right up to his father’s hunched back, “Adar? Please…”

Thranduil whirled around, anger clearly visible through the sorrow in his eyes at being disobeyed so thoroughly by the prince. This anger flickered and was quickly snuffed out as he took in the posture of his son. Hands clasped, brow knit, and deep concern emanating from his clear blue eyes. 

“What is wrong? Please, tell me so that I may help you?” Legolas spoke quickly, seizing the change in Thranduil’s countenance.

The king’s eyes bore into his own and he took a shuddering breath before he spoke, “I saw you in the gardens today, Legolas,” he paused, as if willing his son to understand before he had to finish. When Legolas stared blankly at him he ground out, “With an elleth.” Thranduil’s lip twitched up into a sneer as he said it. Understanding crept across Legolas’ features and his eyes widened up at his father.

“It is not what you think-” Legolas began, but was cut off.

“Legolas, you are the crown prince of Mirkwood, you cannot spend all your time fraternising with foreign ellith and neglecting your duties to this realm. You have a reputation to maintain, and I will not have this family brought into shame because of some stupid, childish infatuation!”

Legolas gaped at his father’s harsh scolding, his lips searching for the right words with which to answer him. He eventually stuttered out, “Adar, it is not what you think. I wish to pledge myself to her.”

Thranduil tried to remain outwardly unaffected by the words his son had uttered, but failed miserably. His eyes widened in shock, his pupils blowing wide as his blood turned to ice and his heart started to beat erratically in his chest. He clenched his fists, his perfectly manicured fingernails digging in to the flesh of his palms. His rings cut into the sides of his fingers as he squeezed, the physical pain dulling the emotional. His hands trembled under the strain. Unfamiliar emotions swam through the king’s heart, feelings he could not make sense of, feelings he would not admit to himself now that it was clear Legolas was serious. 

“I know you think that I am too young but she comes from a noble family, Adar, and she has an unblemished reputation. Her parents are amenable to the match and are distant cousins to Lord Elrond, and she is the correct age…” Legolas trailed off from his rambling when his father held up his hand, silencing him. 

Thranduil shut his eyes for a long moment. He knew the right course of action; it was plain for him to see. If Legolas had come to the decision to pledge himself, there was nothing the king could do. He knew his son would not take such a decision lightly. The only way forward was to support him. He knew that if he did not, he would only drive his son further away from him than he was already. 

Thranduil bowed his head slowly, summoning all of his strength to open his eyes and gaze into his son’s nearly identical ones. Mustering the best twitch of a smile that he could, the king stepped forward and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. Legolas flinched a little as he felt the warmth of his father’s hand through his tunic. He leaned in to the touch, eyes glazing. 

“I am glad you have found someone to love as I loved your mother, ion,” Thranduil’s voice was rough as he spoke, “We brought each other much happiness, and I know she would have been overjoyed at seeing you in love.” It hurt the king physically to say the words, he was finally losing his elfling prince completely, and it was destroying him.

The reaction he received from his strained words was not the one he had expected, though. Legolas looked startled, shocked even, and confusion washed across his face. 

“In love?” Legolas questioned, searching his father’s eyes, “With the elleth?”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed as he now became confused at his son’s words, “Yes, with her, of course with her.” 

Legolas frowned, “I am not in love with her, Adar.” He stated it matter-of-factly, as if Thranduil was a lunatic for expecting him to be. 

Thranduil’s hand slipped from his son’s shoulder as he took a step backwards. His lips parted in surprise and his response became caught in his throat. Legolas’ face was the picture of confusion as he stared at his father, stepping forwards; unconsciously trying to regain Thranduil’s touch. 

“I don’t understand, Adar,” Legolas began, “I thought you would approve?”

“Approve?” Thranduil scoffed, his conflicting emotions finally giving way to exasperation. What was his son thinking?

“Yes, I thought you would approve of the match,” Legolas explained, now clearly distraught at his father’s apparent disapproval, “I just listed all the reasons why our union would be beneficial for the kingdom?” He ended his sentence with a question, as if questioning how Thranduil could not understand what he was saying. When his father only gaped at him, disbelieving, he continued, “Adar, she would allow you to forge a strong relationship with our visitors and Imladris through Lord Elrond. I know how long there has been mistrust and animosity between our realms and I thought that an arrangement such as this would help.”

Thranduil could only stare at his son in astonished silence for a few moments before he whispered, “’Las, how could you think that I would want you to pledge yourself to a loveless union?”

Legolas blinked, caught off guard at the endearment his father used for him. He’d quite forgotten how he’d loved to be called that. When his son didn’t answer, Thranduil continued, “Ion, I would never allow such a thing to happen to gain some political advantage. You are my only child, ‘Las-nín, and I want to see you spend an eternity with someone who will bring you joy every single day of your life.” Thranduil could feel the constriction of his heart as he spoke, meaning every single word. 

Legolas gazed up at his father through cerulean eyes that were tinged with wetness. His father had not been so informal and open with him since he was a small elfling, barely able to understand. He had missed the king’s warmth; he had missed those glacial eyes looking at him with anything but reserve and dismissal. Now though, his father was gazing down at him as though he was the only being in Arda. It was a look that the prince craved more than he should. He craved it in ways that he should not. In ways that his father would think him disgusting and twisted. Sadness flickered across the prince’s face as he swallowed and roughly said, “I think it would still be best if I pledged myself Adar, we could learn to love one another.”

Thranduil’s face fell and he stepped towards his son, “Legolas, you cannot possibly want that; you are only fifty years old, you have millennia to find the elleth who will make you happy!” The king was exasperated. Why would his son want to go through with this?

The answer slowly dawned on the king as Legolas lowered his eyes and shuffled backwards from his father, searching for a way out.

“‘Las,” Thranduil murmured, “You have found someone, haven’t you? Someone I would not approve of,”

“No, Adar,” Legolas said, before recklessly adding, “I have found someone who will not have me,”

Even though the thought of Legolas loving another was like a sword through his heart, Thranduil bristled at the idea of said elf not returning his son’s affections.

“Will not have you? Legolas, you are the Prince of Mirkwood, heir to the throne, you may have any elf you like.”

At this Legolas looked up, certain his father could plainly see through his guarded words and half-truths, “Adar, please, I wish to pledge myself to-“

“Legolas, enough! Under no circumstances will I allow you to pledge yourself if you do not love your betrothed!”

“Adar-” Legolas was cut off again.

“Tell me where your true affections lie, ion-nin, and I will make sure that they are returned.” Thranduil approached the prince; a steely determination is his eyes. Legolas squirmed as his father cupped his cheeks in his hands, the cool metal of his lavish rings sending a shiver through him. 

“Ada-“

“‘Las-“

Legolas couldn’t fight it anymore. He’d put up a valiant effort. For nigh on ten years he’d been fighting it. At first he had had no idea what was happening, he was, after all, only an elfling then. But slowly, slowly he’d realised what the feelings he had been experiencing were. He had also realised that he shouldn’t feel the way he did for his father. So he’d buried it. Buried it under hours of archery practice. Under long days spend with the patrol. Under his intense study of the intricacies of the realm. Anything that would give his mind something else to focus on. He had hoped that it would fade. He’d hoped that it was just a phase. It was not. If anything, his feelings had only intensified over the years. So much so that he had had to take drastic measures only a few months previously. He had tried to pull away. Maybe time spent apart and some distance would cure him? He had deliberately missed their mealtimes, he had found any excuse to be away, and he had stopped staring at his father as though he was still an enchanted elfling. This tactic had only succeeded in making him utterly lonely. There was only one option left to him. He would have to find a suitable elleth to pledge himself to, in a last ditch attempt to pull himself away from his depravity. When visitors had arrived, Legolas had seized his opportunity. He did his research and picked an elleth that he thought best suited to the realm’s needs. An elleth that was the exact opposite of his father. He couldn’t have her resemble him in any way if he was to distance himself. He was only trying to be a good son and prince; he was only trying to cure himself. He only wanted to be free of his father. 

Now, though, Legolas had lost his decade-long battle. How could he resist his feelings when Thranduil was so close, holding him so tenderly? How could he do anything but snake his hands up between his father’s arms and clasp the elegant black robe at the king’s chest? How could he not stand on his toes and reach upwards, placing his trembling lips over Thranduil’s own? How could he think that it would end well?

Pushing all reason from his mind, Legolas did exactly what his heart was yearning for. Forcing his hands between his father’s arms, he sunk his fingers deep into the fabric at his breast, gripping tightly. An instant of surprise flicked across Thranduil’s face at his son’s sudden action, but he was given no time to formulate a response. Legolas rose onto his toes, reaching upwards as he dragged his father down towards him, crashing their lips together in a clumsy kiss.

The world stood still for the prince as ten years of hopeless pining and repressed desires spilled over into the kiss. Legolas felt his father tense under his grasping hands, the king’s body going rigid. The hands cupping his face suddenly squeezed, digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks. Legolas moaned sweetly at the feeling of Thranduil’s pliant lips against his own. His father tasted strongly of the sweet Dorwinion he had consumed, yet there was something intrinsically delicious that could only be the natural taste of the Elvenking; something musky and all-consuming that set Legolas’ blood on fire in his veins. The prince tilted his head in his father’s hands, allowing their lips to slide against one another in a hot, wet kiss that made the low coiling of pleasure in Legolas’ stomach twitch. He lost all concept of time as they kissed, it could have lasted hours or seconds; he wasn’t quite sure.

The young prince was ripped from the ecstasy that was Thranduil’s embrace by his father, who had seemed to have recovered his senses after allowing his son to kiss him. Legolas’ eyes flew open, only to be confronted with a mix of emotions he could not fathom in his father’s normally icy eyes. Thranduil’s irises were darkened, a shade of indigo the prince was not familiar with, and his pupils were blown wide. The king’s lips were a blushed red and his normally pale skin of his face had a decidedly pink tinge, all the way up to the tips of his pointy ears. His breathing was laboured, his lean chest rising and falling in time with Legolas’ own rushed breaths.

Legolas averted his gaze quickly, his head dropping in shame at the inevitable feeling of rejection and pain. He disentangled himself from his father’s robes and made to run away. He was not prepared to face the disgust of his Adar; and running seemed as though it was the only sensible option left to him. But as he turned, a strong hand gripped his wrist, dragging him back into the embrace of his father. He was trapped, unable to look the king in the eyes. 

“Adar,” Legolas began, his mouth dry and his words shaky, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Goheno nín-" He was cut off as Thranduil once again grasped his face, clutching at him desperately as he brought their lips together once more.

This time, the Elvenking was not caught off guard by the rushed and clumsy advances of his son, and he expertly parted Legolas’ lips, his tongue languidly curling around the prince’s own. The inexperienced prince melted into his father’s arms as he let himself be devoured by the king’s mouth; not caring about how or why this was being allowed to happen. All that he could focus on was the smell of Thranduil all around him, the taste of his father in his mouth, and the way the king was forcing him to stumble backwards under the vigour of his affections. Their lips broke apart as Thranduil backed his son up against a column.

Legolas gulped a huge lungful of air, before moaning desperately and grasping out at his father, trying to make as much contact with the being pressing against him as possible. A visible tremor ran through Thranduil’s body as his son moaned deliciously and ran his hands over the king’s taut stomach and around to his back, pulling him close. Thranduil searched for his Legolas’ lips, unwilling to be parted from them now that he knew how he tasted. As he once again claimed his son’s mouth, he pressed his hips against the prince’s, grinding slowly against him to gain some friction against his throbbing erection. He had been achingly hard since Legolas had first brought their lips together. The king could not prevent the rough gasp that flew out of his mouth as he felt the proof that Legolas was also incredibly aroused. 

Legolas’ eyebrows shot upwards as he felt his father’s hand ghost over his shoulders, slide down his chest and glance over his stomach, steadily heading downwards. He gasped out a wanton sigh straight into his father’s ravenous mouth as the king’s hand reached its destination. Legolas’ hips stuttered forwards, thrusting in to his father’s touch. No elf other than himself had ever touched him as his father now was. Even though Thranduil’s touch was hindered by his velvet leggings; he was in complete ecstasy. 

Thranduil was not far from ecstasy himself. As he stroked his son’s stiff cock through his leggings, he pulled back to observe the prince’s face. Legolas’ eyes were squeezed shut, his eyebrows knit together in passion. His mouth hung open, his jaw slack and trembling minutely at the incredible pleasure his father was eliciting in him. Thranduil could barely see through the impassioned haze that had descended around him. All he could focus on was the way his son writhed against him, the way his lips formed a sweet ‘o’ shape when his father finally removed the hand he was using to stroke him, and instead replaced it with the hard press of his own arousal. Thranduil buried his fingers in Legolas’ shimmering blonde hair as he pulled his son so that their cheeks were side by side, and he could feel the princes gasps reverberate against him. The delicate silver circlet that the prince wore clattered to the ground noisily, going unnoticed by the two elves entwined up against the stone column. Legolas grasped his father’s hips as he began to move against the king, his movements evening out as the pair found a rhythm of delicious push and pull, their erections sliding together through their clothes.

Legolas could feel his end approaching, racing towards him. It was too much, the intense sensations, the muddled emotions, the steady pulse of denied desires and dark longings that they so obviously both shared for one another. It was too much. Legolas felt his muscles start to tense and coil against the strong body that was pressing him against cold stone.

The prince battled to steady his breathing enough to whine against the shell of his father’s ear, _“Oh, yes, Ada!”_ His voice cracked on the last syllable. 

Thranduil became mindless at the sheer decadence with which his son spoke, the words sounded absolutely filthy in the midst of their frantic thrusting and moaning. His hands still buried in the prince’s dishevelled hair, Thranduil claimed Legolas’ mouth one final time, swallowing the prince’s sweet whimpers of bliss. 

Legolas surrendered completely to his father then, teetering right on the brink of climax as the king rutted against him unashamedly. Thranduil’s orgasm crept up on him suddenly; it had been many long years of lonely nights and an empty bed that had denied him the pleasure he was now drowning in. The Elvenking faltered as he felt the first tendrils of pleasure creep up his spine. He yielded to it quickly, coming harder than he had ever remembered doing so before. It was hearing his father come undone so forcefully that finally pushed Legolas over the edge, and the prince spilled himself inside his own leggings, seeing white as he came.

Legolas lost track of time as they stood pressed against one another, leaning against that column. Their breathing slowed, their skin cooling with evaporated sweat in the night air. The prince rested heavily against his father’s strong chest, enjoying the tenderness of the afterglow and the steady thud of the king’s racing heartbeat. He was pulled from his beautiful reverie when Thranduil abruptly extracted himself from Legolas’ arms. The prince slid down the stone behind him awkwardly and he raised his wide eyes upwards to meet Thranduil’s. The king set his jaw and swallowed hard, his expression stormy. He ran a trembling hand through his own white-gold hair, absently smoothing the misplaced strands, before he turned on his heel and swept away from his son.

Legolas’ face fell as he watched his father vanish, leaving him dishevelled, spent and with an uncomfortable moist patch over the front of his leggings. The prince felt hot, wet tears begin to well in his eyes as he pushed himself into a standing position, his legs shaky. Noticing the glint of moonlight on his discarded circlet, he bent down to pick it up off of the floor. The delicate crown quivered in his shaking hands as he replaced in onto his head. He took a great, shuddering breath and composed himself, tugging his tunic down to hide the evidence of his depravity, before he weakly made his way to his chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Adar = Father  
> Ada = Dad  
> Elleth/Ellith = Elf Woman/Women  
> Ion = Son  
> Arda = Name given to the Earth  
> Goheno nín = Forgive me
> 
>  
> 
> **Go on.**  
>  **Leave a comment or some kudos.**  
>  **You know you want to find out what happens next ;)**


	3. Terminal Velocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas reached a tentative hand out to the door handle; he hesitated. What if his father threw him out? What if he screamed and shouted? What if he disowned him? What if he could never look him in the eyes again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hello again :)**
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for all the kind comments on the previous chapter, means a lot <3
> 
> So, this is the last chapter, but I am already planning a sequel if anyone is interested. I shall be posting the sequel under a new thread, it'll become quite obvious why ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> **So anyway, here is the last installment, enjoy x**

Legolas could not sleep. He’d been lying in his bed for hours, but still he could not stop the whirring of thoughts in his head. They alternated between utter disgust and repulsion for his own actions earlier that evening, to secret hoping and romantic notions of his father sneaking into to his chambers to continue their forbidden tryst. He was torturing himself. He knew this, but was unable and unwilling to stop.

The prince rolled over on to his side, bringing his knees up to his chest and clutching at the silken sheets he lay on. He buried his face in a feather pillow and let out a great sigh of anguish. He could still smell his father on himself; he could still taste the musky flavour of his father’s tongue. It was as though, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine the king stretched out next to him in the sheets, curled around him. He could smell his hair, his skin, and he could taste his mouth, his wonderful, beautiful mouth. The spell broke when he opened his eyes and he felt the all too familiar clench of his heart. He shifted uncomfortably. When he had finally made it back to his chambers he had only had the willpower to shed his soiled clothes before pulling on a fresh pair of his usual brown leggings and falling into bed. They were now unpleasantly tight thanks to the lingering effects of his father. He should bathe and wash the scent of Thranduil from himself, wash away the shame, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy the only evidence of their encounter. He was trapped in his own cycle of torture and pleasure.

Legolas rolled once more, throwing his body over on to his back and burying his fingers deep into his messy hair. His braids had loosened and were sticking out at odd angles. He dug his fingernails into his scalp; the pain was soothing. He let his hair go after a moment, staring at the canopy of his large bed. He was too full of nervous energy to sleep. Heaving a resigned sigh of defeat, the prince rose from his bed and threw a long leaf-green robe over his bare shoulders before leaving his chambers.

~...~

Thranduil was scrubbing himself raw. The Elvenking was desperately trying to remove all traces of his son from himself.

Upon bursting into his chambers that night, he had paced for a few minutes, hands trembling and eyes roving around desperately. Eventually, he caught his image in a mirror. He stared. He stared at the deep flush across his cheeks and ears. He stared at the thoroughly debauched way his hair was tousled. He stared at the way his tunic and robes were rumpled. He stared at the damp spot on his leggings. Holding back a cry of agony, the king began ripping the clothes from his body. He left a trail of discarded garments all the way through his bed chamber through to his private bathing space. He quickly set about preparing the bath water, sliding in to the ornate bathtub before the water had quite finished filling. 

Thranduil then set about scrubbing every inch of his pale elven body until it was an angry red colour. Yet still he felt unclean, inside and out. Eventually he gave up, his weary body descending under the now lukewarm water and his head resting on the edge of the bath. His long silver hair hung limply down to the floor, its tips just brushing against stone. The Elevenking shivered before closing his eyes, trying to push all thoughts of what he’d done out of his mind. 

~...~

Legolas reached a tentative hand out to the door handle; he hesitated. What if his father threw him out? What if he screamed and shouted? What if he disowned him? What if he could never look him in the eyes again? The prince struggled with his inner battle of needing to set things right with his Adar and being unwilling to bear his father’s anger. Eventually, the young prince gripped the handle, turning it as silently as he could before pushing the door open and slipping inside his father’s chambers.

He hadn’t intended on confronting his father that night. All he wanted to do was sleep, to slip into oblivion and try to calm his mind. After departing his own chambers, the prince had wandered for a while; the empty palace was somehow calming; it was an island of familiarity in his confused emotional state. Legolas eventually reached the gardens, taking comfort in the familiar smell of the woodland. The night was chilly, and it caused tendrils of mist to swirl through the greenery, giving the gardens a mystical feel that he could lose himself in. 

It was as Legolas was returning to the palace from the woods that he saw the gentle flicker of light in the windows of his father’s chambers. He stopped abruptly and his breathing quickened. He’d expected his father to have been asleep by now. The light emanating from the king’s chambers was the only one visible in the palace, the rest of the rooms darkened. Legolas’ stomach dipped, was his father just as unable to sleep as he was? Was the king thinking of him at that very moment? Legolas stared at his father’s windows for a few more moments before setting his jaw in determination and hastening towards the lights. 

Legolas’ eyes darted around his father’s bedchamber. The light was low, flickering candles throwing long shadows around the room. The king was nowhere to be seen. The prince’s brows furrowed in confusion, and then his ears picked up the tell-tale sounds of water. He flinched, half turning back to the door to leave. He had not expected his father to be bathing. Legolas closed his eyes, steadied himself and his thumping heart, and turned towards the noises. 

The ethereal sight which greeted the anxious prince did nothing to help his frayed nerves. His lovely father was stretched out in the bath, his hair cascading over the edge and down to brush the floor. He had his eyes closed, his face relaxed and serene. One hand was resting over the edge of the tub, water dripped from the ends of his fingers, landing on the cold stone ground. Legolas’ eyes widened and he tried to commit as much of the scene before him to memory before he was inevitably discovered. The prince could not drag his eyes away from the way his father’s lips parted as he breathed, a droplet of water lingering on his bottom lip. He knew that the sight would forever be etched into his mind and would haunt him at night for centuries to come. 

He must have been breathing too loudly, as he had not moved from his frozen position in the doorway to the bathing chamber. His father’s eyes flew open as he registered another’s presence in the room. His head spun to face his son, his face flashing with surprise, then anger. 

“Legolas!” his father hissed, sitting up and causing water to splash over the sides of the bath. Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but could only mouth silent words. The prince drew back from the doorway as his father rose from the water in one fluid movement, the entire length of his pale body visible to his son. Legolas blushed deeply and turned his back, it didn’t feel right to see his father’s naked body in such a way. 

The king hurriedly tossed a light robe around his still-wet shoulders and belted it loosely around his hips. His son had had the decency to turn from his father, yet he did not know for how long he had stood watching him bathe. He strode out purposefully into his chambers and grabbed Legolas’ elbow from behind, forcibly dragging his son to the door.

“Adar!” Legolas squeaked in surprise at being manhandled. 

“You must leave, now. Do not come back here,” Thranduil hissed, opening the door and shoving his son out. He was angry, livid, that his son would invade his personal space. Legolas spun around.

“Adar, please, we need to-”

“Legolas, I will tolerate this no longer, leave. Now.” Thranduil cut across his son, moving to shut the door.

Legolas did not know what possessed him in that moment to defy his father and king; maybe he was angry that he was being treated in such a way by the being he loved most in the world. The prince flung out his hand, preventing the door from closing with a strong arm. Thranduil glared at his son through the gap.

“I need to talk to you, please,” the prince begged, eyes pleading with his father, “Don’t shut me out like this, I can’t deal with this by myself, I can’t… I can’t…” The prince struggled for his words, his emotions getting the better of him. Thranduil’s harsh glared softened somewhat at the distress of his son. Legolas held his father’s eyes pleadingly.

When he got no response from the king, Legolas pushed on the door gently and it eased open, allowing him entrance. Legolas slipped into his father’s chambers once more, closing the door tightly behind him. Thranduil was still staring at him, though it was now more of a wary gaze than an angry one. Legolas swallowed nervously as his gazed up at the king. Now that he was actually in his presence all coherence had fled from his mind. It did not help the prince that his father was still soaking wet, the flimsy robe clinging to his strong body in ways that made Legolas weak. Some of the king’s golden hair clung to his neck, winding its way beneath his robe. Legolas’ eyes dropped down to watch as tiny water droplets ran down his father’s smooth chest, wetting the robe even more. 

Thranduil noticed his son’s eyes become distracted and his brows knit together. He was about to demand that his son leave him, when he saw that the prince himself was wearing very little. His son was barefoot, only clad in leggings and a loose robe that hung over his bare shoulders; his entire chest was visible to the king’s eyes. Thranduil ripped his eyes away from his son and turned towards the decanter of Dorwinion that lay to the right of his bedchamber; he needed a large drink.

Legolas watched his father pour himself a sizable glass of sweet wine before taking a huge draught of it. The prince fidgeted by the doorway, unsure of what he should do next. He glanced at the door, maybe he should just leave? Maybe it would be better if they never spoke again? The prince started as Thranduil poured another glass of wine and thrust it in his direction without looking at him. Legolas moved forwards quickly, taking the glass with shaky hands and sipping it gratefully. The king took a great, shuddering breath before closing his eyes and dropping his head.

“What do you want me to say, Legolas?” he asked, resigned.

The prince didn’t know what he wanted, so he said the only thing that he could think of that he knew to be true.

“Gi melin, Ada,” he whispered.

Thranduil’s heart hurt at the words. Though they were exactly what the king wanted to hear, he was still consumed by guilt and shame. When Thranduil did not move or respond Legolas closed the distance between them, putting down his glass. 

“I have loved you for a decade, Ada. I tried to fight it, I truly did, but I fear that I no longer have the strength to. I do not have any strength left to fight something that we both want.”

Thranduil fisted his hands, squeezing tightly as he answered, “This is not right, ion-nin, this depraved thing between us is not right,”

Legolas moved even closer to the hunched form of his father, “But you do feel the same, Ada? You feel as I do?”

“It does not matter what we feel, Legolas, this cannot happen,” the king breathed, trying to convince himself along with his son, “What you are talking about is forbidden. I should not have done what I did tonight, it was wrong. It can never happen again.”

Legolas reached out a hand, barely brushing against the skin of his father’s chest. Thranduil jumped back from his son as if he had burnt him.

“But, you do feel the same, you do?” Legolas persisted, following his father. Thranduil backed away even more, not trusting himself to be too close to his son. 

“Legolas stop this,” Thranduil demanded as he was backed up against the foot of his bed. Legolas did not stop. He strode right up to the king, his chest brushing against the rumpled material of his father’s robe. He was made brave by the king’s refusal to deny that he loved him in the same way that the prince loved him.

Gazing into the blue eyes of the king that looked so much like his own, Legolas whispered, “Gi melin,”

Thranduil averted his gaze from his son’s, looking down to where their bodies were almost touching.

“Gi melin,” Legolas whispered again, this time bringing a hand up to brush away the hair that was clinging to his father’s damp neck. Thranduil shut his eyes, leaning in to his son’s soft touch. Legolas took his father’s reaction as a positive sign and, his entire body trembling in repressed desire and fear, the prince reached upwards, placing a gentle kiss onto his father’s lips. Thranduil’s brow knit together in pain as he fought against the urge to yield to the kiss. Every cell in his body screamed out its approval at having his son’s lips on his once more, even if it was just a ghost of a kiss.

Legolas pulled back slowly, discouraged by his father’s lack of response. The tortured look in Thranduil’s eyes as they broke apart took his breath away. The king continued to hold back, fighting the urges that were coursing through his body. He had to resist his son. Legolas was barely out of his elfling years, he had no idea what he really wanted. He did not grasp how wrong their feelings were, he could not imagine the extent of the damage they could cause. It was the king’s duty to resist enough for both of them. 

Legolas saw the battle in Thranduil’s eyes; saw the way his body shook with the force of his restraint. The prince knew his father wanted this as much as he did, it was clear to see. Sensing his chance, Legolas lifted one of his hands to the belt of the robe his father wore. He tugged gently, undoing the hastily tied knot. Thranduil’s hands shot up to grasp Legolas’ hand, stilling his movements.

“Don’t,” Thranduil hissed.

Legolas wasted no time in simply raising his other hand, finishing the job. The belt fell from the king’s hips, allowing his robe to part slightly. 

“I am no longer an elfling, Ada,” Legolas whispered, “I want this,”

Thranduil sucked in a lungful of air through his nose before he gasped out, “You do not know what you are asking for, Legolas,”

“Then show me,” Legolas breathed, reaching inside his father’s robe with his free hand. Thranduil grabbed the arm, now holding both of Legolas’ hands away from himself. The prince merely stepped forward, pressing the length of his firm body against the king’s, able to feel every shallow breath that Thranduil took. Legolas was also able to feel the evidence that his father was very much affected by his proximity. Thranduil’s eyes bore into his son’s and his fingers went slack around Legolas’ wrists, allowing the prince to reach up and brush the robe from his father’s shoulders. The fabric fell from the king, leaving him completely naked and pressed up against his son’s chest. Legolas reached up to push his own robe from his shoulders, leaving him only in a pair of obscenely tented leggings.

“Legolas, please,” Thranduil tried to reason with his son, yet the king’s hands unconsciously reached out to grip his son’s hips, pulling him closer, “We cannot do this,”

Legolas ground his hardness against Thranduil’s, gasping, “We’re already doing it, Ada,”

Thranduil moaned before giving in to his son’s touches, his willpower crumbling at the feeling of Legolas’ cock nestled next to his once more. He dug his fingers in to Legolas’ hips, sure to leave a bruise the following morning, before he surged forwards and captured the writhing prince’s lips with his own. Legolas whimpered his surprise at the rough treatment, but caught up quickly with his father’s ravenous kisses and soon they were devouring one another, their caresses full of tongue and teeth. 

Legolas yelped in surprise as his father’s large, strong hand slid around his neck, grasping his throat and forcibly removing him from his father’s mouth. The prince’s eyes began to water as his father struggled to catch his breath from the kiss. Thranduil met his son’s eyes slowly, his hand still clenched around the struggling prince’s throat. 

“Gi melin, ion-nin,” Thranduil managed to gasp out, his voice rough with desire, “And it is because I love you that I cannot allow this,”

Legolas’ eyes widened and he tried to protest, grasping at the hand at his throat which held him away from the king, “A-Ada-“

“You must leave Mirkwood immediately,” Thranduil said tightly, his jaw twitching, “You will take an armed escort to Imladris at first light; you need to distance yourself from me if we are to have any hope of stopping this perversion,”

Thranduil abruptly loosened his hold on the prince’s throat, causing Legolas to stumble. The king bent down as gracefully as he could and retrieved his discarded robe, pulling it over his shoulders and belting it once more. 

“Ada,” Legolas gasped, tears now making their way down his flushed cheeks unashamedly. Thranduil could barely look at his son, but schooled his face into an expression of icy detachment before brushing past the prince, making his way back to his bathing chamber.

“What you desire will never come about, Legolas; I do not feel for you what you feel for me. It is best you try to put these desires of yours out of your mind during your time away,” Thranduil’s mask began to slip as he spoke “Leave me now.”

Legolas turned to his father as he swept past him, but the king did not look back as he entered his bathing chamber and shut the door tightly. The prince stared dumbly at the closed door for a few long minutes, tears streaking down his cheeks. Taking hold of himself, Legolas bent down to retrieve his robe, before exiting his father’s chambers, utterly heartbroken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Adar = Father  
> Ada = Dad  
> Ion = Son  
> Gi melin = I love you
> 
> As I said, I shall be continuing this, so never fear :)  
> I am also thinking of starting an AU Thrandolas piece, and, if you have the time or the inclination, I would love some ideas. Leave me a comment or e-mail me if you have any you wouldn't mind lending me ;)
> 
>  
> 
> **Thanks for reading! :)**


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